Relena's Syllabub
by Mia Relena
Summary: Embers of past passions between a dashing sea captain and a mysterious governess is stirred with heartwarming results. Relena & Quatre.
1. Default Chapter

Relena's Syllabub

CHAPTER ONE

Edited by Mia Relena

Author: Sandra Heath

            The Comte and Comtesse de la Palitaine held their winter ball four days before Christmas. It was 1814, and the moonlit night was frosty as the cream of Brussels society arrived at the brilliantly illuminated house in rue Ducale, which formed the western boundary of the park in the sought-after upper part of the city. But as the guests moved to a quadrille beneath the crystal chandeliers, in the nursery another quadrille was taking place as the comte and comtesse's two young daughters danced with one of the maids and their new English governess, Miss Relena Dorlian, who's dark-green velvet gown looked particularly seasonal.

            The nursery was a cozy room, where firelight flickered, and seasonal garlands were festooned over the picture fails and pelmets. Pride of place was given to one of the comtesse's German Christmas tress, of which there were five throughout the house. There was much merriment as the unofficial quadrille became more and more disorganized, ending with everyone falling on the polished parquet floor in a helpless heap of laughter, including Miss Dorlian.

            Relena was twenty-seven years old, and something of a mystery. With her lighthearted manner, soft blond curls, and big blue eyes, she was considered far too attractive to still be single, but no amount of subtle questioning had elicited much information about her private life. All that was known was that she'd been companion to the elderly Duchess of Roxwell, who'd decided to travel in Europe, which was at last open because of Napoleon's downfall. Relena admitted that under normal circumstances her financial situation would not have required her to seek a position, for she had a private income that was payable once yearly, but she had decided to do so because it offered her a wonderful opportunity to travel, and like the duchess, she'd always wanted to see Europe. She also happened to like the old duchess, who was an eccentric but kindly soul with whom she got on well.

            However, it all went wrong when the duchess died suddenly in Vienna, leaving Relena unpaid and obliged to use her own funds to travel home to England. Then, in Brussels, burglars stole her money and most of her belongings, leaving her with two choices: go to the British consul for assistance, or seek further employment until sufficient funds had been saved to complete the journey. She decided upon the latter course, and when the post of governess at the house in rue Ducale became unexpectedly available, she applied and was accepted immediately.

            If Relena's new employer had realized then that on the night of the ball, the governess would catch the womanizing eye of the dissolute young Prince of Orange, she would never have been taken on, for the prince was the comtesse's lover! But as the ball got under way, the comtesse's world was completely rosy, for not only the pricne dancing flattering attendance, but there was also Captain Quatre Raberba Winner, a particularly handsome and enigmatic young British naval captain who'd caught her interest.

            It was to be this latter idle interest that commenced the ruination of the comtesse's grand night, for when she saw the dashing captain slip out to enjoy a Spanish cigar on the lanternlit terrace, where no one else had yet ventured because the starry December night was cold, she decided to join him. But first she spent a few minutes flirting with the prince, so that he would not feel in the least neglected.

            During those few minutes, Quatre sensed nothing of his hostess's predatory intentions as he drew upon the cigar and gazed over the garden toward the city's great fourteenth-century ramparts. If he'd glanced up to his right, he'd have observed the exuberant scene in the nursery, but he was too deep in thought to observe anything in particular. The dismal state of his private life over the past year had changed him. He'd always been a dedicated sailor, but now the navy and the sea were all he ever thought of. Indeed, as far as he was concerned, what else was there to think of? This being the case, he really didn't know what had possessed him to visit landlocked Brussels. He loathed being onshore, but after a nine-month stint in the Caribbean was on leave until the New Year, when he was due to take command of the frigate _Piper_, one of the swiftest vessels of her class in the Royal Navy, and famous because of the number of prizes she'd taken under her previous captain. She was being completely refitted, and he had no option but to wait until she was ready. He'd gone to great lengths to gain the orders that took him to the Caribbean, for he had much from which he wished to escape. But then, wasn't excape the usual resort when one had a guilty conscience?

            He was thirty-five years old, tall, elegant, and fairly handsome, with thick blond hair, keen blue eyes, and a complexion that was still suntanned from his recent service in the seas around Jamaica. His lean body was ideal for the gold-braided navy-blue and white uniform that was reckoned by some to be the most attractive military uniform of all, and if he'd chosen, he wouldn't have lacked ladies to partner him, but he was seldom in the mood to be a social animal. He'd only been invited to the ball by accident, because he'd been in a group of army and navy officers who'd been asked to make up numbers. He'd thought it might do him good, but he was bored.

            God, how he wished Christmas were over and done with, that the _Piper _were ready to sail, and he could kick the dust of land off his shoes again. He pulled a wry face, watching the smoke of his cigar curl up into the icy night air. There'd been a time when he'd have reveled in a ball such as this, but that had been before He sighed, for times had changed, _he'd_ changed, and if he was alone now, he had no one to blame but himself.

            He was just pondering slipping away to his room at the Hôtel d'Angleterre in the rule de la Madeleine, when he heard laughter from the nursery. At first he couldn't make out where it was coming from, but then noticed the brightly lit room in the wing to his right. As he looked, the two de la Palitaine girls, Marie-Claire and Monique, eight and ten respectively, came to the window to gaze eagerly out. He knew they were hoping to see snow, and he smiled, for children weren't concerned with the logic that to have snow, one first required snow clouds, whereas tonight's sky was starlit from one horizon to the other.

            He was about to extinguish his cigar when another figure appeared at the nursery window. Dumbfounded, he stared up at the young woman in the dark-green gown. Surely it was…! No, that was impossible, she was in England! At that moment the cigar burned his fingers, and with a curse he dropped and stamped on it. When he looked at the window again the curtains had been drawn and he could see nothing.

            The comtesse chose this moment to come on the terrace. Petite, golden haired, and blue eyed, she was very beautiful indeed, and her frilled peach taffeta gown rustled busily as she hastened over to him. "Ah there you are, Captain Winner," she said, her diamonds glittering in the moonlight. She shivered because it was so cold. "_Dieu, c'est froid, n'est-ce pas?_"

            "Cold? Er, yes, I suppose it is," he agreed.

            She looked quizzically at him. "Is something wrong, Captain?"

            He pulled himself together. "No, I was just miles away."

            She looked blankly at him. "Miles away?" Then her eyes cleared. "Ah, yes, you mean in your head, _oui?_"

            He smiled. "Yes." He glanced at the nursery window. "You have two very pretty daughters, Comtesse, they clearly take after their mother."

            She went pink with pleasure. "You are a flatterer, Captain."

            "Indeed not," he replied earnestly, for he shared the view that the comtesse was one of the most handsome women in Brussels. He also shared the view that her morals were not as they might be, but that was by the by. Besides, who was _he _to pass judgment on the morals of others? In the past, his own hadn't borne close inspection, and it had cost him dear, just as, he suspected, it would one day cost the comtesse dear too.

            She eyed him, tapping his arm with her closed fan., "_Eh, bien, Capitaine_, how long do you mean to honor Brussels with your presence?"

            "I haven't made up my mind, but I should hear of my new vessel some time in January, so I suspect I'll remain until then."  
            "Good, for I intend to take you under my wing," she declared coquettishly.

            His heart sank as he recognized the look in her eyes. "You do?"

            "Why, yes, sir, for it is not right that a gentleman like you should be on his own." She searched his face in the moonlight. "Is there a lady in your life, Captain?"

            "No." But his glance flickered momentarily toward the nursery window.

            The comtesse didn't notice. "Ah, how emphatic you are, some might say too emphatic."  
            "I assure you, Comtesse, there is no lady in my life, nor has there been for a year now.  
            She couldn't hide her astonishment. "A year? _Dieu_, that is a long time."

            "A lifetime," he murmured, glancing at the nursery window again. "Tell me, Comtesse, did I see a governess with your daughters a short while ago?"

            The apparent change of subject surprised her. "A governess? Why, yes, of course, does not everyone have a governess for their children?"

            "What is her name?"

            "Dorlian. Mademoiselle Dorlian. English, of course, for the best governesses are English. Or maybe Scottish…" Her voice died away as she saw the expression on his face. "Captain?"

            "Dorlian?" he repeated slowly.

            "That is what I said."

            He stared toward the curtained window. "Her first name wouldn't be Relena, by any change?" he asked. 

            "Why, yes, Captain, it would indeed." A new light entered the comtesse's eyes as she studied him. "Do you know her?"

            "I, er, believe so." It _was _Relena! He was so shaken he didn't know what to say next, for his estranged wife was the last person he'd expected to find in Brussels! He struggled to recover his poise. "Comtesse, would it be possible to speak to her?" he asked then.

            A jealous spark flitted through the comtesse's heart. How _dared_ he ask after a mere governess, when he had the belle of Brussels society showing an interest in him! "That I do not know, Captain. Perhaps if you could explain a little more…?"

            He hesitated, and then thought better of confiding anything in a known intrigant. Besides, now he knew where Relena was, it surely wouldn't be all that difficult to waylay her. "Oh, it's of no consequence, Comtesse. Miss Dorlian and I haven't seen each other for so long, there's probably no point in renewing the acquaintance."

            She gave him a thin smile, for she knew what he was really thinking. No matter what he _said_, Relena Dorlian _was _still of interest to him. Of considerable interest. The knowledge piqued her, for she wasn't used to taking second place to someone as inconsequential as an upper servant! Spite spurred her in that moment, and she determined to thwart him by dispatching the girls to their grandmother in Aix-la-Chapelle, in the care of their governess! Let the brave Captain get around _that_!

            With a false smile, she tapped his gold-braided sleeve again with her fan. "_Eh bien_, it is far too cold we stay out here, so I _insist _we go back inside."

            "Of course." He offered her his arm, and they went back toward the ballroom, but as the master-of-ceremonies announced a _ländler, _and he was obliged to whirl the comtesse on to the crowded floor, his thoughts were of Relena.

**Author's Note**: Hello, what you have just read is a story from the anthology, A Regency Christmas Feast. This was a story called "Sophie's Syllabub" by Sandra Heath. Since Regency romance books are a dying breed, I believe that by giving you all a sample (with a little tweek here and there…) can get you all to read their wonderful books. J Yes, I did change names around to match the characters from Gundam Wing, however, I am not taking credit for this story. This could be considered plagiarism however, I am not taking credit for it. J Meaning, I am only giving you a little taste of how wonderful this book is. I shall write out this whole book so that you can get a taste of what kind of books Miss Sandra Heath writes and hopefully, you will then take care to go buy some of her other wonderful books.

**Disclaimers**: A Regency Christmas Feast: Sophie's Syllabub by Sandra Heath has been © by Zebra Regency Romance Sandra Wilson. Zebra Regency Books are published by Penguin Books Ltd.. Gundam Wing are all characters of their respective American and Japanese owners. They are also ©.

**Information**: Pages—2; Words—2,024; Characters (No Space)—9,428; Characters (With Space)—11,453; Paragraphs—42; Lines—158 

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	2. 

Relena's Syllabub

CHAPTER TWO

Edited by Mia Relena

Author: Sandra Heath

            A little later that same night, when the girls were asleep, Relena slipped alone to the gallery above the ballroom. She went quietly to the greenery-decked balustrade, and peeped down into the beautiful vaulted chamber. It had walls that were hung alternately with costly Brussels tapestries and tall giltness, the parquet floor was sanded, and there were German Christmas trees in the corners, each one ablaze with candles. She didn't see Quatre among the guests.

            She'd been on the gallery for a few moments, when the Prince of Orange noticed her. He guessed who she was, for who else but a governess would be dressed in a velvet gown, live in the house, and yet be excluded from a ball? His glance moved speculatively over her. After the hothouse charms of the Comtesse de la Palitaine, the governess's freshness was most beguiling.

            A footman passed with a tray of champagne, and the prince reached out absently to take a glass, his gaze still upon the dainty figure in dark green, but unknown to him, his mistress had noticed his absorption in Relena. The comtesse's eyes flashed with jealousy fury as she rightly interpreted the expression on his face. It was bad enough that the captain should be interested in the vapid little creature, but that the _prince_ should be so as well was _insupportable_! Aix-la-Chapelle was no longer a solution. The governess would have to go altogether!

            Snapping her fan open, the comtesse swept toward the prince, her face tightening into another of her brittle smiles as she linked his arm and drew him to a part of the ballroom from where he couldn't oogle anyone he shouldn't. A few moments later she beckoned a footman, and instructed him to order the governess to her room. He did so, and within seconds Relena had fled from the gallery.

~*~*~

            It was four in the morning when Quatre returned to his hotel in the rue de la Madeleine, but although he was tired, he couldn't sleep. He lay there in the warmth of the huge four-poster bed, staring up at the hangings and recalling the past, when Relena and he had been so much to each other. He'd met her through her brother Milliardo, a fellow officer who'd also been his closest friend. Milliardo had invited him home two Christmases ago to the modest manor house home of the Dorlian family. What a wonderful time it had been, for it had brought Relena into his life. He remembered walking hand-in-hand with her through the snow at the Dorlians', and could recall even now the color on her cheeks, the sparkle in her beautiful blue eyes. When he'd kissed her, her lips had been cold at first, but had swiftly warmed beneath his. She was a creature of passion, coming sensuously into his arms with an instinctive readiness for the delights of love.

            That evening, while carolers entertained the rest of the family in the snow outside the house, he and Relena had slipped away to the drawing room, where the cook had already set out the traditional syllabub that was always served in the Dorlian household on Christmas Eve. The room had been lit by the flickering light of the fire, and the little pearls in Relena's favorite earrings had shone as she turned to face him. How lovely she'd looked in her sapphire dimity gown, and how innocently enticing. There was something about her that drew him like a pin to a magnet, something that had haunted his existence ever since.

            He smiled as he remembered how playfully she'd taken a spoon and dipped it into one of the glasses of syllabub. She'd held the spoon out to him, and he'd tasted the thick, creamy richness of the sweet that he would ever after associate with that magical moment. She'd tasted some as well, and then put the spoon down to come into his arms. His body stirred even now when he recalled how she'd pressed against him. He'd known she could feel the hardness of his masculinity, a hardness she'd never experienced before, and that it excited her. The lips she'd raised to his had tasted of syllabub, and she'd melted into his embrace as if she too were a confection of wine and cream.

            Never had a kiss been so arousing. He'd felt her responding to the new emotions that swept through her, and his own arousal had intensified. His fingers had twined in her hair, and when his palm had brushed against her breast, he'd felt her nipple through the soft stuff of her gown. Their mouths had moved together, and their tongues touched briefly as her lips parted. The temptation to go further had been almost unendurable. His masculinity had pounded in his breeches, longing to be freed to find the haven of her femininity. He'd wanted her so much that in that single moment he'd known she'd always be the only woman for him.

            The sweet images faded as other memories took over, memories of his own foolish male arrogance. He'd taken it for granted that her heart was his to do with as he pleased. He'd spent the night with a woman he knew was Relena's enemy, and as a consequence had lost Relena forever. To this day he didn't know why he'd been so damned stupid. He didn't _like _Sylvia Noventa, let alone want to make love to her, and yet it had happened. It was, as men were wont to say, one of those things. Well, he'd made sure he steered well clear of those things since then! But it was too late. Too late by far.

            It hadn't even been a simple matter of knowing Relena was safely with her family, for she'd left there too, and no one would tell him where she'd gone. He was persona non grata with the Dorlians. Relena's parents wouldn't speak to him at all, and Milliardo had almost gone so far as to call him out over what he'd done. It hadn't come to that, thank goodness, but he'd deservedly forfeited Milliardo's friendship forever.

            Now, out of the blue, he'd found Relena again. She was the only woman who could make him live properly again, and he wanted her back. He intended to speak to her somehow, in the hope that she'd relent now that a whole year had passed. But in his heart of hearts he feared she'd _never_ relent. 

~*~*~

            The comte and comtesse slept very late after the ball, so Relena as yet knew nothing of her impending dismissal as she took Marie-Claire and Monique for an airing in the Allée Verte, a public walk in the lower city, beside the important canal that led north to Antwerp. The canal was a favorite method of transport for people as well as goods, and the girls spent some time on the bank watching the _coches à l'eau_, or water stagecoaches. The imminence of Christmas was evident in the passengers' glowing faces, and the abundance of seasonal fare they were taking home. There was carol singing on one boat, and the merry sound echoed glowingly over the cold scene as Relena ushered her two young charges back to the rank of fiacres waiting at the end of the walk. 

            Relena returned to rue Ducale to find three things awaiting her. The first was a letter from her mother, the second was news of Quatre's reappearance in her life, and the third was her dismissal. They occurred in that order. On receiving the letter, which had been collected for her from the _Poste Restante_ by the comte's man, Henri, with whom she'd become quite friendly, she adjourned to the quiet of the blue drawing room to read it. She wasn't suppose to enter the elegant room with its five large windows, but didn't think anyone would know for the few brief minutes she intended to be there.

            The _Poste Restante_ in Brussels was all the address she'd given her family, since she had no desire for them to learn she was now a lowly governess. She hadn't even told them about the Duchess of Roxwell's death, and they were consequently still under the impression she was sharing the old lady's travels. Her reticence was due to a recent calamity in her father's financial circumstances. He'd suffered because of the collapse of a company in which he had a large interest, and she knew he was finding it difficult to keep even the manor house going. The last thing he and her mother needed to know was that their daughter, whose decision to go abroad as a companion had bothered them a great deal, was now financially embarrassed as well. It was Relena's philosophy that what they didn't know wouldn't worry them.

_                                                                                                            December, 5th 1814._

_My dearest Relena,_

_            Forgive the scribble, but I have wonderful news. Your brother Milliardo is this day arrived home from the Mediterranean, and will be staying until the end of January, when I fear his ship departs again, this time for Australia. I beg of you that you come home if at all possible, for it may be many a long year before we are all able to spend Christmas together again. I realize that the duchess may not wish to part with you at this season, but I ask you nevertheless. _Please _come home for Christmas, my dear, so that we may once again sit around the fire and eat syllabub, just as we did when you and Milliardo were children. And please rest assured that your presence will not be a burden, for your dear father and I would be pleased if you came home, not only for Christmas, but to stay. Please give this your urgent consideration, my dear, for it is not right that you should be a companion, nor was it ever necessary, but you were ever an unconscionably independent and unnaturally spirited creature. What other daughter but you would choose to skip off to the Continent as a paid servant, when she could be comfortable at home?_

_Your loving,_

_Mother._

            Relena gazed at the letter, which had for some reason been delayed at Ostende. Milliardo had come home! Oh, if only she _could_ be there too, to give her Christmas presents in person, instead of sending them but she'd undertaken to remain with the comte and comtesse for six months, and so far had only been there for three. As for releasing her for a while, especially at Christmas, when they had such a full social diary, well, it was unthinkable. Besides, the whole thing was academic, for Christmas was in three days' time, so although the letter had been written at the beginning of the month, its delay in transit had left her with hardly any time to prepare and travel. She rose sadly from her seat by the fire, and adjusted the lace ruff of her simple blue woolen gown, but as she turned to leave the room, to her dismay, the comtesse came in.

            Relena dropped in apologetic curtsy. "Forgive me, madam, I know I shouldn't be in here, but—,"

            The comtesse said nothing as she went to lie wearily on a blue-and-silver Turkish couch, of which there were several in the room. She arranged her elegant rose velvet skirts, and then surveyed the governess. Memories of the previous night swept over her, and her eyes darkened with renewed resentment. What was it about this simpering English spinster that so attracted men? First the handsome captain, and then the prince. "No, you should not be in here, Mademoiselle Dorlian," she said coldly.

            Relena curtsied, and turned to withdraw, but the comtesse halted her. "I have often wondered about you, mademoiselle."

            Relena turned in puzzlement. "I—I beg your pardon?"

            "You are a dark horse, Mademoiselle Dorlian. Here was I thinking you were a little innocent, when all the time you have an admirer."

            Relena looked blankly at her. "I—I don't understand," she said.

            "The handsome naval captain."

            Relena drew back slightly. "Naval captain?"

            "Captain Quatre Raberba Winner."  
            Relena's breath caught. "Quatre?" she repeated faintly. 

**Author's Note**: Hello, what you have just read is a story from the anthology, A Regency Christmas Feast. This was a story called "Sophie's Syllabub" by Sandra Heath. Since Regency romance books are a dying breed, I believe that by giving you all a sample (with a little tweek here and there…) can get you all to read their wonderful books. J Yes, I did change names around to match the characters from Gundam Wing, however, I am not taking credit for this story. This could be considered plagiarism however, I am not taking credit for it. J Meaning, I am only giving you a little taste of how wonderful this book is. I shall write out this whole book so that you can get a taste of what kind of books Miss Sandra Heath writes and hopefully, you will then take care to go buy some of her other wonderful books.

**Disclaimers**: A Regency Christmas Feast: Sophie's Syllabub by Sandra Heath has been © by Zebra Regency Romance Sandra Wilson. Zebra Regency Books are published by Penguin Books Ltd.. Gundam Wing are all characters of their respective American and Japanese owners. They are also ©.

**Information**: Pages—2; Words—2,032; Characters (No Space)—9,343; Characters (With Space)—11,376; Paragraphs—34; Lines—161 


	3. 

Relena's Syllabub

CHAPTER THREE

Edited by Mia Relena

Author: Sandra Heath

            The comtesse's brown eyes were bright with curiosity. "What is he to you?"

            "Nothing, madam."

            "I know a lie when I hear it, mademoiselle."

            Relena became anxious. "Please, madame, he is nothing to me. I haven't seen him for a year, and have no desire to see him now."

            The comtesse's lips pursed. "With all due respect, mademoiselle, the gentleman concerned does not seem the sort who would ever mean nothing to a woman."

            Relena lowered her eyes. "He is in the past, madam."

            "Really?" The comtesse murmured dryly, as she smoothed her skirts again.

            Relena knew the moment probably wasn't opportune to ask about Christmas, so she curtsied and hastened to the door, but the comtesse spoke again.

            "I fear I will have to let you go, mademoiselle."

            Relena paused, and turned. "Madam?"

            The comtesse rearranged her skirts. "Your employment here is terminated, mademoiselle."

            Relena was stunned. "Terminated? M—may I ask why?"

            "You have not given satisfaction."

            "But—but that cannot be so," Relena stammered, unable to believe this was happening.

            "Don't presume to tell me whether or not you have been satisfactory, mademoiselle! I fear it is so; you are dismissed, and I cannot with any honesty recommend you to anyone else, so I will not be giving you a reference." The comtesse gave a cold smile. "I presume you will wish to return to England, and since I realize that you only took this position in order to finance the remainder of your journey home, your passage will be paid and a post chaise will be hired, at my expense, to convey you to Ostende in the morning. Will that be in order?"

            Relena was still numb. "Yes, madam," she whispered. 

            "Do not tell the children of your departure, for I have a headache, and do not wish to have their caterwauling to contend with."

            "As you wish, madam."

            Too shaken to even think clearly, Relena went out and closed the door quietly behind her.

            The comtesse drew a long, satisfied breath. That was the end of it. The prince would not cast his lustful gaze on Relena Dorlian again, and the handsome captain would not be reunited with her either!

            But not even the comtesse could take precautions against fate, and that afternoon Relena was destined to come face-to-face with Quatre after all. It occurred because the girls had been promised a walk in the park, and he happened to be watching the house when they set out.

            Relena was still thunderstuck by the suddenness of her dismissal. There hadn't been any warning at all, no hint that the comtesse was displeased with her, indeed there hadn't been anything for the comtesse to be displeased about. It wasn't even as if the comte had begun to show any interest, for it wouldn't bother his wayward wife if he did! So why had it happened?

            She watched as Marie-Claire and Monique ran ahead, their cheeks rosy in the chill air. The park was almost deserted as they played hide-and-seek among the many statues that were hidden now beneath straw coverings to protect them from the worst of the winter frost and snow. She'd obeyed the comtesse's instructions and hadn't told them there'd be tears when they learned, for although she hadn't been their governess for long, they'd already become very fond of "Woody." And she of them.

            She leaned back against a tree trunk to watch them playing. She wore a wine-red cloak that was trimmed with fur, and the hood was raised over her head, but still the Brussels chill cut through to her skin, for it was very exposed up here on the slope above the rest of the city. She glanced toward the royal palace, which formed the southern boundary of the park, and as she did, she was dismayed to see a familiar figure in naval uniform walking toward her. Slowly she straightened, for she knew it was Quatre, and that he intended to speak to her.

            She raised her chin a little defiantly as he halted a few feet away, and for a moment neither of them spoke, but then he sketched a bow. "Hello, Relena."

            "I have no desire to speak to you, sir," she said in a tone that offered no encouragement whatsoever.

            His gaze swept over her, taking in the little curls around her face, and even the glint of the little pearl earrings he remembered so well. "You're still very beautiful, Relena," he said after a moment, hardly able to believe that they were face-to-face again. It was only twelve months, and yet it seemed a lifetime. To him, it was a lifetime. The Quatre Raberba Winner who looked at her now was a very different man from the one she'd seen before.

            "I have no interest in your compliments, Quatre," she replied, glancing toward the girls, who were still chasing each other around the statues.

            "Relena, can't we at least try to settle our differences?"

            "I have no wish to settle anything with you, Quatre. You're now part of the past as far as I'm concerned, and that is how I wish things to remain."

            "But it isn't how I wish things to remain. For three months I hunted high and low for you, Relena. I humbled myself before your family, begging them to let me see you, but they turned me away."

            "Can you blame them? Besides, I told them I didn't want you to find me."

            "That much is clear, but what isn't so clear is why you're a governess so far away from home. Such posts are usually the resort of ladies in delicate financial circumstances, but you have a generous allowance."

            She looked away. "I didn't set out to become a governess, rather it was forced upon me by circumstance. The late Duchess of Roxwell invited me to be her companion on a tour of Europe, and I accepted because it was an excellent opportunity, but she unfortunately died in Vienna. I was then robbed on my way home, and had to find a position in order to finance the remainder of the journey."

            "I realize that your allowance only falls due once a year, but if you'd sent word to my lawyers, you know you would have been forwarded the necessary funds," he pointed out, for at the time of the separation he'd left instructions that any requests from her were to be treated favorably.

            She met his eyes. "You must know that I have never touched my allowance."

            He was taken back. "Never touched it? No, I didn't know, I haven't been in contact with my lawyers since my return from the Carribean." He looked at her in bewilderment. "Why haven't you used it, Relena? You're my wife, so it's yours by right."

            "I have more self-respect than to take anything from you, Quatre."

            "Do you still hate me so much?"

            "I feel nothing for you," she answered.

            "I don't believe that. Whatever you may feel toward me, it cannot possibly be indifference."

            "You flatter yourself, Quatre."

            "I'm so sorry for what I did, Relena. If I could turn the clock back, I would," he said quietly, reaching out to touch her.

            She backed away. "All this comes far too late. What you did, your cruel words to me afterward, cannot be forgotten or forgiven."

            He stretched forward suddenly to catch her hand. His fingers were so tight over hers as he pulled her toward him, that she could feel the wedding ring on his finger. She tried to wrestle herself away, but he was far too strong. When he had her so close she could feel his breath on her cheek, he gazed intently down into her eyes. "Despise me if you will, Relena, but my feelings will never change. I loved you then, and I love you now."

            "No, Quatre, for if you loved me then, you wouldn't have done what you did!"

            Her closeness affected him. Suddenly, he was conscious of a tumult of feelings racing through his entire body. "Oh, Relena, is one small error of my judgment to be held against me for the rest of my life?" he cried.

            She tried to pull away. "What would you say if I'd been the guilty one? What if I'd made that one small error of judgment? Well, Quatre? Would you forgive and forget?"

            "I pray I would," he breathed, releasing her.

            She rubbed her wrist. " No, Quatre, you'd have called me a whore, and turned your back on me. Well, I had that much pride too, so I turned my back on you. Vows are vows, and you broke yours."

            "Don't you think I haven't regretted it every day since?"

            "I neither know nor care whether you do or not, Quatre. You hurt me more than you'll ever know, and now I want nothing more to do with you. Please go."

            "Damn it, Relena, you're my wife!" he cried.

            She looked at him. "And you're my husband, Quatre, but you chose to ignore the fact when you went to Sylvia Noventa's bed."

            "Relena—"

            "Please go," she interrupted.

            He gazed at her for a long moment, then, before she knew what was happening, he seized her in his arms. He pressed her to him, forcing his lips down on hers in a kiss that was so full of raw pain and passion that it overwhelmed him completely. His senses carried him away, his body responded, and he felt weak with desire as he crushed her against the virility that cried out for her. A year of hopeless yearning pounded at his loins as suddenly the sweetness of her perfume was in his nostrils again. Lilacs, always she smelled of lilacs, even in the depths of winter…

            She struggled, but was helpless against his superior strength. She felt his arousal, tasted the need in his kiss, and remembered the nights of unremitting delight she'd once spent in his bed. Echoes of her own desires sounded hollowly through her, and for a breathless moment she almost succumbed. But then she remembered how he'd betrayed their marriage, how he'd come to her still warm from another woman's embrace, and her heart hardened again. She couldn't forgive him his unfaithfulness, or the humiliation he'd dealt her.

            With a huge effort she dragged herself from his arms, and struck his face so ferociously that her fingers left welts on his cheek. His head jerked from the force of the blow, and for a long moment he gazed into her overbright eyes. Then, without another word, he walked away.

            She stared after him with tears in her eyes. She'd loved him so very much, but he'd thrown her love back in her face, and for twelve long months she'd tried to forget him; now, suddenly, she'd been confronted again with the feelings she'd striven to vanquish. She wanted to be as indifferent to him as she claimed, oh, how she wanted it, but it was impossible. In that the comtesse was right. Captain Quatre Raberba Winner was a man for whom no woman could feel indifference.

            The girls ran back to her at the moment, and she forced an animated smile to her lips as they each took one of her hands to continue the walk. She glanced back over her shoulder, but Quatre had gone.

**Author's Note**: Hello, what you have just read is a story from the anthology, A Regency Christmas Feast. This was a story called "Sophie's Syllabub" by Sandra Heath. Since Regency romance books are a dying breed, I believe that by giving you all a sample (with a little tweek here and there…) can get you all to read their wonderful books. J Yes, I did change names around to match the characters from Gundam Wing, however, I am not taking credit for this story. This could be considered plagiarism however, I am not taking credit for it. J Meaning, I am only giving you a little taste of how wonderful this book is. I shall write out this whole book so that you can get a taste of what kind of books Miss Sandra Heath writes and hopefully, you will then take care to go buy some of her other wonderful books.

**Disclaimers**: A Regency Christmas Feast: Sophie's Syllabub by Sandra Heath has been © by Zebra Regency Romance Sandra Wilson. Zebra Regency Books are published by Penguin Books Ltd. Gundam Wing are all characters of their respective American and Japanese owners. They are also ©.

**Information**: Pages—2; Words—1,902; Characters (No Space)—8,558; Characters (With Space)—10,458; Paragraphs—61; Lines—160 


	4. 

Relena's Syllabub

CHAPTER FOUR

Edited by Mia Relena

Author: Sandra Heath

            That night, completely by chance, the Comte de la Palitaine dined at the Hôtel d'Angleterre in rue de la Madeleine. The comtesse was with the Prince of Orange, but the time had long since passed when her husband would have called anyone out for cuckolding him. The list of meetings at dawn in the Fôrest de Soignes just outside the city would be so embarrassingly long that he'd be obliged to get up early every morning for a month, and that wouldn't suit a man of his natural languor. Besides, why attempt to defend the indefensible? A lady's honor had to exist in the first place if it was to be championed. So tonight he happened to be with two friends, one of whom had recommended the hotel's cuisine, so they decided to sample it.

            Afterward, when his friends had gone and he lingered in the smoking room over cognac and a cigar, he found himself seated next to Quatre, who was doing the same while reading the English language newspaper, the _Brussels Gazette_. The comte recognized him. "Ah, good evening, Captain, I trust you enjoyed the ball last night?"

            Hearing himself addressed, Quatre looked up from the newspaper in some surprise. "Why, good evening, Comte. Forgive me, I didn't realize you were there."

            Always ready for a little postprandial conversation, the comte moved a little closer. "How are you enjoying Brussels?"

            Quatre set the newspaper aside, and picked up his glass of cognac. "Very much. Well, perhaps that's not strictly true, although my reservations are no reflection on your city," he added quickly. "I fear I'm a man of the sea, and begin to fret for a deck beneath my feet."

            "You will leave us soon?"

            "Yes. Very soon." Quatre glanced down at his cognac. "Tomorrow, in fact," he said suddenly, his mind made up on the spur of the moment.

            The comte smiled sympathetically. "I perceive you are an unhappy man, sir, and not necessarily just because Brussels is far from the sea. Am I right?"

            "You are, sir."

            "Come, we will share another cognac together, and you will tell me all about it."

            "I, er—"

            "I insist." The comte snapped his fingers to a waiter, and when two large glasses were placed before them, he lit another cigar, and sat back comfortably. "_Eh bien, Captaine, dites-moi votre histoire._"

            Tell his story? Quatre didn't know where to begin, except perhaps with that other Christmas, and the syllabub taste on Relena's sweet lips…He began to talk, and the comte listened incredulously, only speaking when Quatre had finished.

            "My dear fellow, are you really telling me that you and Mademoiselle Dorlian are man and wife?" he exclaimed in astonishment.

            "We are."

            "_Mon dieu!_" The comte sat back in amazement. "I had no idea, no, er, inkling at all that my daughters' governess was a married woman."

            Quatre feared he might have jeopardized Relena's position. "Er, Comte, maybe I should not have divulged such information, for as I've just told you, my wife has a good reason for wishing to forget I am her husband."

            "My dear sir, you were a little unfaithful, that is all. _C'est la vie, n'est-ce pas_?"

            "You may think so, sir, indeed most people here may agree with you, but Relena neither agrees nor forgives."

            "And you wish to be reconciled with such a—a _puritaine_?" To the comte, this seemed the height of lunacy.

            "Oh, believe me, sir, Relena is far from being a puritan," Quatre murmured, recalling the nights of passion he'd spent with her.

            The comte glanced at him. "I begin to see there is much more to little Mademoiselle Dorlian than meets the eye," he observed with a faint smile.

            "Much more," Quatre nodded.

            "Well, I confess there are times when I cannot imagine anything more agreeable than to be separated from one's wife," he went on dryly. "However, I happen to like Mademoiselle Dorlian—er, forgive me, for she is Madame Winner, is she not? Well, whatever her title, I happen to like her, and I am somewhat incensed that my tiresome wife has so summarily and unfairly dismissed her."

            "Relena's been dismissed?" Quatre sat forward in concern. "When did this happen?"

            "This morning."  
            "But I spoke to Relena in the park this afternoon, and she didn't say anything."

            "Nevertheless, it is so. She leaves for England first thing tomorrow." The comte paused thoughtfully, and then gave Quatre a knowing smile. "And since, my heartsick friend, that is what you intend to do as well, I have a little suggestion to make, although it grieves me to assist a fellow in the madness of recovering a wife." The comte smiled, and raised an inquiring eyebrow. "Shall I go on?"

            Quatre's interest was piqued. "By all means, sir."

            "Do you have a carriage?"

            "Me? Yes, of course."

            "Well, a post chaise has been hired to convey her to Ostende, but it occurs to me that if it were to be canceled, and _your _vehicle were to replace it, with you in it as well, of course…" The comte spread his hands expressively.

            Quatre stared at him, and then shook his head. "Relena would never get into my carriage, she'd take one look at me and walk away."

            "Then she must not see you until it is too late. Instruct your coachman to pick you up somewhere on the way, and then to drive and drive until you have had time to persuade the lady to favor you again. It be, well…" There was another meaningful spreading of aristocratic hands.

            A new light began to shine in Quatre's eyes. "I do believe it might work," he breathed.

            "My dear captain, of course it will work."  
            Quatre hesitated, then his glance moved to the doorway, through which he could see the waiters scurrying to and from the dining room. One passed at that very moment, carrying a tray upon which stood a dessert that looked very like a syllabub. It was a sign, Quatre thought, and gave the comte a quick smile. "Very well, I'll do it," he declared.

            The comte beamed, and clapped him heartily on the back. "Excellent! Shall we drink to it?" He raised a hand to summon more cognac.

            Quatre quickly shook his head. "Not for me, Comte, I need to be sober." he said.

            The comte laughed. "I quite understand, although to be sure, _I _would have to be quite in my cups in order to chase after the comtesse!"

            Quatre smiled, and got up. "At what time should my carriage be at the rue Ducale?"

            The comte rose as well. "First light."

            Quatre held out his hand. "I'll be eternally grateful to you, sir."

            The comte accepted the hand. "Well, I confess _I'll _be eternally bemused that any man should wish to reacquire a wife, but it takes all sorts. I wish you and Madame Winner the very best of happiness, Captain."

            As Quatre left, the comte resumed his seat and called for another cognac. Then he gazed at Quatre's discarded copy of the _Brussels Gazette_. He had always thought it, but now he knew for certain—the English _were _crazy. He smiled, but then his sharp eye caught two names on the column of _on dits_. The Prince of Orange and Comtesse de la Palitaine…Slowly he leaned across to take the paper and read. His brow darkened, for the salacious tone of the article was unmistakable. He sighed, and tossed the paper down again. Well, the captain might want to have his wife back, but Henri Francois Maximilian, Comte de la Palitaine, saw the time had come to cast _his _off forever!

~*~*~

            Relena slept restlessly that last night in Brussels. She'd broken the news of her departure to the distraught children, and had hugged them tightly as they clung to her, sobbing. The comtesse was impervious to their pleas, indeed she waved them unfeelingly away when they went to beg her to let their governess stay. She'd become rash over the past day or so, and was impatient to keep an assignation with the Prince of Orange at his lodge in the Fôrest de Soignes. It didn't enter her vain, selfish head that she might do better to give her marriage a little attention, and that showing compassion toward her heartbroken children might be a good place to begin.

            By bedtime, Relena had packed her belongings. After such a day, it was perhaps not surprising that it was some time before she relaxed enough to sleep, but when slumber did arrive, her dreams were as unsettling as everything else over the past twenty-four hours, because they concerned Quatre. She relived her wedding night, spent at his town house in Piccadilly. She remembered her apprehension as she'd gone down to dinner, for now that true womanhood was almost upon her, she felt suddenly nervous, as if all the tender kisses and excitement of courtship had never been. But the dinner had been exquisite, and Quatre had been so natural, caring, and understanding, that her fears evaporated. The dessert had been syllabub, but then what else could it possibly have been on their wedding night? She knew he must have asked the same as the one they'd shared for those few stolen moments on the previous Christmas.

            Even in her dreams she saw how naïve she'd been, for all the syllabub proved was that Quatre Raberba Winner was a practiced seducer, a lothario who'd graced so many beds he knew _exactly _how to gull a fool like her. But, when he'd come to her that night, she'd adored him so much she would never have believed that within two short months he was to show callous disregard for the vows they'd made, vows that meant everything to her. No, that night was magical, and she believed him to be everything any woman could ever want in a husband—kind, gentle, handsome, warm, witty, experienced, and passionate. A paragon.

            Maybe in so many ways he was. He'd taught her so much about pleasure. Oh, he knew so well how to awaken her senses to the joys of lovemaking. He'd kissed her lips, her throat, her breasts, and her belly, he'd stroked parts of her that had never been stroked before, and he'd whispered things that should have made her blush, but which excited her. His caresses aroused a hunger she hadn't known before, drawing her on and on toward a fulfillment and complete satiety.

            He knew so much, so very much and with hindsight she could see only too well that such sexual accomplishment was the result of having taken many women to his bed. Such a man was bound to find just one woman a little boring, even if that woman was his new bride. Oh, yes, she could see it now, but at the time…

            Tears welled from her closed eyes as she turned restlessly in her sleep. On their wedding night everything had been so beautiful she thought the rest of their lives would be the same. She'd lain cherished and satisfied in his arms, and they'd made love several more times before dawn.

            She'd continued to live in fool's paradise when a few weeks later they left London to take up residence at Winner Park, his country estate near Canterbury. Then, one fateful day, a "friend" had informed her that Quatre hadn't gone to the Admiralty in London when he said he had, but had only gone as far as Canterbury, where he'd been see at dawn leaving the home of Sylvia Noventa, the one woman in all Kent who'd gone out of her way to make the new Mrs. Winner feel unwelcome, a woman whose spiteful tittle-tattling had spread all manner of untrue rumors about Quatre's bride, and whose own hopes of marrying him had been dashed by Relena's appearance on the scene. Sylvia had sworn to win him back, and she'd succeeded, as was proved when Quatre had been confronted with what his distraught wife had learned. He'd denied it at first, but when she continued to press for the truth, at last he admitted adultery.

            _"Very well, if the truth is so damned important, yes, I've been unfaithful! Will that do? Or would you like me to write it down in blood? I, Quatre Raberba Winner, have broken the Seventh Commandment, and I chose to do it with Sylvia Noventa!"_

Sylvia Noventa…Sylvia Noventa…Sylvia Noventa…The name rang so loudly in Relena's ears that she awoke, sitting up sharply in her darkened room as she realized the maid was tapping at her door.

            _"Mademoiselle, il est sept heures! Dépêchez vous!"_

The dream fled into the shadows, and Relena glanced toward the window, where she could just see the faint light of dawn beyond the curtains. It was seven o'clock. Within an hour she'd be on her way, leaving Brussels and Quatre Raberba Winner behind. She threw back the bedclothes, and got up.

            Marie-Claire and Monique peeped tearfully over the balustrade as their beloved governess departed. A footman had already carried her luggage out to the waiting carriage, and there was no one else to say good-bye as Relena left the house in rue Ducale. The comte had gone on to a gaming club after speaking to Quatre and was still there, and the comtesse was with the Prince of Orange in his lodge in the Fôrest de Soignes. Relena was struggling not to cry herself, because she'd become very fond of the two girls, and didn't want to leave them like this. She was therefore too upset to notice that the vehicle she climbed into was unmistakably English, and that the coachman wore a caped benjamin coat that was also quite clearly from the other side of the Channel. As the whip cracked, she glanced up at the house for the last time, then the carriage jolted forward along the damp cobbles.

            Relena shivered a little as she was conveyed down from the aristocratic heights into the main city, for the dawn was very cold. Beneath her fur-trimmed cloak she wore her warmest clothes, a blue woolen pelisse over her matching gown, and her hands were pushed into a muff, but still it seemed that the continental chill seeped through to her skin. The skies were lowering and the wind gusted dismally over the streets and squares. She saw the magnificent Grand' Place, which was perhaps the most splendid square in Europe, the shops with their Christmas wares, the ever-ornamented and painted houses that proliferated through the city, and occasionally, if a room was lit, she saw the festive leaves and ribbons inside as well. And everywhere there were Christmas trees, which were becoming so in England too.

            It began to rain as the carriage rattled out of the capital and then west along the paved highway toward Ghent, Bruges, and Ostende, which was some sixty-four miles away. The wind buffeted the vehicle, and water sluiced dismally down the glass. It was fitting weather for her mood, she reflected, gazing out at the distorted view of flat countryside, intersected with dikes and rows of limes, willows, and tall poplars.

            Suddenly the carriage jolted to a standstill, and with the cessation of rattle of the wheels on the pavé, the noise of the rain became much louder. She sat forward in concern. What had happened? But as she reached for the door, it opened, and a cloaked man with a tricorn hat pulled low over his forehead began to climb in.

            She drew back in alarm. "Who—who are you?" she cried.

            He didn't answer, and the raindrops from his cloak scattered over her as he turned to slam the door again. 

            Anger spurted through her. "How _dare_ you force your way in like this, Sirrah! I _demand _to know your name!" she cried in French.

            Still he didn't reply, except to produce a cane beneath his cloak, and rap it peremptorily on the roof of the carriage. The coachman's whip cracked, and the carriage lurched forward again, coming up swiftly to as smart a pace as was wise in such a torrential downpour.

            Relena was frightened, but faced the interloper with bravado. "I demand to know your name, sir!" she cried, still in French.

            At last he removed his tricorn, and her breath caught as she found herself staring at Quatre. 

            "You!" she whispered.

**Author's Note**: Hello, what you have just read is a story from the anthology, A Regency Christmas Feast. This was a story called "Sophie's Syllabub" by Sandra Heath. Since Regency romance books are a dying breed, I believe that by giving you all a sample (with a little tweek here and there…) can get you all to read their wonderful books. J Yes, I did change names around to match the characters from Gundam Wing, however, I am not taking credit for this story. This could be considered plagiarism however, I am not taking credit for it. J Meaning, I am only giving you a little taste of how wonderful this book is. I shall write out this whole book so that you can get a taste of what kind of books Miss Sandra Heath writes and hopefully, you will then take care to go buy some of her other wonderful books.

**Disclaimers**: A Regency Christmas Feast: Sophie's Syllabub by Sandra Heath has been © by Zebra Regency Romance Sandra Wilson. Zebra Regency Books are published by Penguin Books Ltd. Gundam Wing are all characters of their respective American and Japanese owners. They are also ©.

**Information**: Pages—3; Words—2,738; Characters (No Space)—12,649; Characters (With Space)—15,381; Paragraphs—69; Lines—221 


	5. 

Relena's Syllabub

CHAPTER FIVE

Edited by Mia Relena

Author: Sandra Heath

            "Good morning, Relena," he murmured, tossing his hat aside and beginning to unfasten his cloak. "I confess I'm all admiration for your French accent. You speak without a trace of perfidious Albion."

            "I leave the perfidy to you."

            His eyes flickered. "Yes, I realize that."

            She recovered a little from the shock of finding herself confronted by him again. "You have no business forcing your way into—"

            "I have every business, since this is my carriage," he replied, standing to remove his cloak and toss that aside as well. He wore his naval uniform beneath.

            She pressed back into her seat. "_Your_ carriage?" she repeated confusedly. "But, the comte hired a post chaise for me, I heard him dispatch a footman—"

            He broke in. "The comte was persuaded that you'd be in safe hands if I escorted you home to England."

            She stared at him. "You surely don't imagine that I intend to allow _you _to escort me?"

            "Well, you can get out and walk if you wish," he offered, rapping the roof with his cane again.

            The carriage halted, and he flung the door open. The wind and rain blustered in, and she stared out in dismay at the swaying trees, and the rippled water of a nearby dike. There didn't seem to be a village anywhere nearby, and the closest farm was at least a quarter of a mile away across fields.

            Quatre looked at her. "Do you wish to walk, Relena?"

            She colored angrily, and sat back again. "No doubt you find this amusing," she breathed.

            "No, Relena, I happen to find it most providential that the weather is aiding and abetting my purpose," he said quietly, closing the door again, and once more rapping the cane on the ceiling.

            Her eyes flew to his again. "Your purpose?"

            "To win you back," he said as the carriage moved on again, the wheels clattering on the cobbles.

            Her lips parted in disbelief. "I would as soon be reconciled with the devil," she said stiffly.

            "Do you really mean that, in your heart of hearts?"

            "Oh, yes, you have my word, which, unlike yours, can be trusted implicitly."

            The retort found a mark, for he flushed slightly. "How acid, to be sure," he murmured.

            "You surely don't expect anything else? You treated me shabbily when we were together, and now you've found me again, you seem set on continuing to treat me shabbily. If you hope that I'm going to be gullible and misty-eyed again just because you choose to reemploy your so-called charm upon me, you're very much mistaken! I learned my lesson at your hands, and do not intend to repeat such an unpleasant exercise."

            "You learned many lessons at my hands," he reminded her softly.

            Color stained her cheeks. "That I do not deny."

            "Nor can you deny how good it was."

            "Not good enough to prevent you from straying," she pointed out coolly. "How long did it take you? Two months? Oh, yes, you were faithful for that length of time at least. Or were you? How many other times did you visit dear Sylvia?"

            "I did it once, that's all."

            "So you say." That perhaps the most painful aspect of it all, not knowing if he'd told her the full truth. He'd admitted to one fall from grace, but she feared his liaison with Sylvia had involved many more occasions than that. It was the possibility that he may have constantly slipped between her bed and Sylvia's that was so humiliating, and hardened her heart so very much. She'd fallen in love with him so completely, that the hurt he'd dealt her had been almost unendurable.

            For a moment he said nothing, but then held her gaze again. "Why do you think I am going to these lengths now, Relena?"

            "I really have no idea." Her voice was as flat as the Belgian countryside, for Sylvia Noventa was still in her mind.

            "It's because I still love you. I know I failed you before, but you're the only woman for me, Relena, and somehow I'm going to make you realize it too."

            "It's too late, Quatre. I can look at you now and feel nothing."

            "I cannot and will not accept those words," he replied, his voice so soft it was almost lost in the noise of the carriage.

            "You have to, for they are final."

            The carriage rattled on, and nothing more was said.

~*~*~

            The paved road may have been noisy and uncomfortable, but it allowed easy travel, even in such atrocious weather, and in the hope of catching the ride the following morning, they traveled overnight. Relena tried to stay awake, for finding herself ensconced with an estranged husband who declared he wished to be estranged no more, was unsettling in the extreme. But with the onset of darkness, the rhythmic motion of the vehicle soon began to take effect, and as she leaned her head back, her eyes began to close as she sank into a deep sleep. She didn't even stir when the horses were changed.

            She awoke at dawn when a road passed over a bridge and the coachman shouted a warning to a drover whose cattle were blocking the way ahead. Her eyes flew open, and for a moment she didn't know where she was. It was still raining outside, and the wind had increased so that from time to time it made the carriage shudder. With a start she remembered, and at the same moment realized that not only was her head resting on Quatre's shoulder, but his arm was around her! She sat up with an accusing gasp, but he spoke before she could say anything.

            "Please don't fear for your virtue, for I promise that I have not been guilty of a single transgression, in spite of temptation."

            She hastily got up to move to where she had been when she'd fallen asleep. "You should _not _have—" she began.

            He interrupted. "Well, I suppose I _could _have left you to slide inelegantly on to the floor, but I thought it more gallant to present you with a shoulder and a steadying arm. I'll be sure to leave you to fall next time," he said dryly.

            "There won't _be_ a next time," she retorted. Her cheeks felt a little warm, and she was glad the dawn light was so poor. "I—I suppose I should thank you," she added then, not wanting to sound churlish in case he _had _saved her from falling to the floor.

            The belated acknowledgement fell on stony ground. "Please don't, for if there's one thing I abhor, it's insincerity."

            She held his gaze in the gray light. "Well, it seems leopards _do _change their sports, for there was a time when insincerity was your stock in trade," she said tersely.

            "Sleep evidently doesn't improve your disposition these days," he replied, bringing the brief conversation to an end by putting on his tricorn, tilting it forward over his face, and seeming to go to sleep, although whether or not he really was, she couldn't tell.

            An hour later they reached Ostende, and after the Belgian customs had thoroughly inspected the luggage, the carriage was loaded on the deck of the packet _Nymph._ The sea was steel-gray in color, with alarming waves that were white-topped as far as the eye could see. Even in good weather it was a seven-hour voyage to Dover, so Quatre secured a cabin for her, intending to remain in the carriage himself. However, the wind increased to gale force, and the _Nymph's _master, Captain Boxer, decided to wait for the next tide, and hope the weather would abate in the meantime. Some of the passengers were increased, for that meant they wouldn't arrive in England until Christmas Eve, but the mater pointed out sagely that it was better to arrive late than not at all.

            As it happened, the gale did abate sufficiently, and after nightfall the packet was at last able to put out. While Quatre made certain that the ropes holding the carriage on deck were as firm as they should be, Relena stood alone at the stern, watching the coastline slip away into the spume-flecked December night. But it soon seemed the drop in the wind had been Mother Nature's trick, for as the vessel reached open water, the gale increased once more, and mountainous waves surged on all sides. The air was filled with spray, and she could taste salt on her lips as she held her hood over her damp hair.

            Relena shivered as she remained at the stern, for the air was bitterly cold. Her cloak billowed around her like a wild thing, and she could hear the wind whining through the rigging and cracking the canvas of the sails. The _Nypmph_ heaved on the swell, and she gripped the wet railing, staring back as the last lights of Ostende vanished.

            "You didn't belong in Brussels, you know," Quatre said behind her, his voice almost lost in the racket of the weather.

            "I liked it well enough," she replied, not looking around at him.

            "You shouldn't have stooped to being a servant to others, Relena. It was foolish pride, inverted pride, that made you ignore the allowance I have always made for you."

            "I suppose you'll say next that I shouldn't have left you."

            "We _could _have solved it all, you know, if only you'd stayed."

            "Well, when I _was _with you, unfortunately, _you _were with Sylvia Noventa," she said, then gasped as the vessel plunged into a sudden trough between waves.

            Quatre put a swift arm around her waist, and as she angrily tried to push him away, the packet surged sickeningly up out of the trough again. It was terrifying, and in spite of herself she clung to him, hiding her face against his salt-sprayed cloak.

            "It's all right, now," he said reassuringly.

            As the vessel righted again, Relena began to pull self-consciously away, but he held her a moment longer. "I'm not the monster you think," he said, looking intently into her eyes. "I betrayed you once, that's all."

            "Once was enough, can't you see that?" she replied, twisting free and then turning to make her unsteady way along the wet deck toward the ladderway that led belowdeck.

            In the little cabin, which was lit by a gimbal mounted candle, she took off her cloak and shoes, and lay fully dressed on the narrow bed. She glanced around. The furniture was fixed to the floor to prevent it moving in just such a storm as this, and the ill-fitting porthole shutter was closed. The waves dashed against the vessel, and the water trickled down inside. Timbers creaked and groaned as the _Nymph _shuddered, and suddenly there was a loud crash on the deck immediately overhead. Then she heard running footsteps, and men shouting. What had happened? She was frightened.

            At that moment Quatre knocked at the cabin door. "Relena? Are you all right?"

            Gladly she hurried to let him in.

            "Are you all right?" he asked again, the gold braid of his uniform glittering in the candlelight.

            "Yes," she said in a small voice.

            He saw how pale and anxious her face was, and came in, closing the door behind him. "Don't worry, this isn't really much of a storm," he said reassuringly. "The _Nymph_ has weathered far worse, and Captain Boxer is a very experienced seaman."

            "I—I'm sure you're right, but I heard a terrible crash, and—"

            "It was only a few crates that hadn't been sufficiently secured. Try to sleep, if you can."

            "That's easier said than done."

            He smiled a little. "Well, try anyway," he said, turning to go.

            "Please stay," she said quickly.

            He looked at her. "Of course, if that is what you wish."

            "I don't want to be on my own," she confessed, glancing uneasily toward the porthole as more seawater dripped from beneath the shutter.

            He made sure the door was firmly closed, and nodded toward the bed. "As I said before, I suggest you try to sleep," he said, sitting down on the chair by the table.

            But suddenly, the cabin was engulfed in darkness as the candle went out. Never had the night seemed more fearsome and impenetrable than in that moment, and Relena reached out instinctively toward him. "Quatre?" she cried.

**Author's Note**: Hello, what you have just read is a story from the anthology, A Regency Christmas Feast. This was a story called "Sophie's Syllabub" by Sandra Heath. Since Regency romance books are a dying breed, I believe that by giving you all a sample (with a little tweek here and there…) can get you all to read their wonderful books. J Yes, I did change names around to match the characters from Gundam Wing, however, I am not taking credit for this story. This could be considered plagiarism however, I am not taking credit for it. J Meaning, I am only giving you a little taste of how wonderful this book is. I shall write out this whole book so that you can get a taste of what kind of books Miss Sandra Heath writes and hopefully, you will then take care to go buy some of her other wonderful books.

**Disclaimers**: A Regency Christmas Feast: Sophie's Syllabub by Sandra Heath has been © by Zebra Regency Romance Sandra Wilson. Zebra Regency Books are published by Penguin Books Ltd. Gundam Wing are all characters of their respective American and Japanese owners. They are also ©.

**Information**: Pages—3; Words—2,075; Characters (No Space)—9,395; Characters (With Space)—11,461; Paragraphs—74; Lines—172 


	6. 

Relena's Syllabub

CHAPTER SIX

Edited by Mia Relena

Author: Sandra Heath

            Such darkness or conditions were nothing to him, and he stepped quickly over to her, catching her hand as if he had the eyes of a cat. "It's as well the Royal Navy doesn't enlist the fair sex, or few vessels would put to sea," he murmured, maneuvering her to the bed and ushering her to sit down. Then he sat down with her, and felt in his pockets for his luminaries. He took one out, held it up until it flared into life, then he leaned across to light the candle again.

            The ship pitched, seeming to plunge forever before surging up again. Relena's hand returned nervously to his, and his fingers closed firmly over it. "I won't let anything happen to you," he said, smiling a little at the anxiety in her eyes.

            "I—I'm sure that not even a captain in His Majesty's Royal Navy can promised to hold back the sea," she replied, looking toward the porthole.

            "No, but his experience can render him fairly accurate in his predictions. I've been in far worse seas than this, and in one or two vessels that could only be described as leaking tubs, and I've spent hours on deck watching wave after wave in endless tedium. I know the sea and ships, and can tell you that the shutter will hold, and we'll reach Dover safely, if in a little discomfort."

            She managed a smile of sorts. "I—I know you're right, but it still doesn't stop me feeling like I do."        

            The storm heaved the vessel from side to side, and the noise was tremendous. Her heart pounded, and she realized her fingers were digging into his, but she couldn't help herself. She needed to talk. But what about? She searched for something to say. "Are—are you still in command of the Fabulous?"

            "Are you really interested?"

            "Yes," she replied, realizing she was. In spite of everything, she wanted to know about him.

            "As it happens, I'm between commands. In the new year I take over the frigate Piper."

            "Piper? But isn't she considered one of the best?" She knew the name because it had figured prominently in the newspapers for taking prizes during the recent hostilities.

            He smiled. "You sound surprised. Don't you think my naval talents warrant such a vessel? Perhaps I should have remained with sloops for the rest of my career?"

            "I think very highly of your naval talents, you know that."

            "Yes, I suppose I do. Whatever other faults you considered me to have, incompetence at sea wasn't one of them. To answer your question, yes, Piper is one of the best. She's being refitted at the moment, and I'm to report at Portsmouth some time in January. I'll be notified."

            "I believe her record regarding prizes is second to none."

            "Yes. She never lacks eager volunteers ready to serve on her. I've been the object of much envy among my fellow officers."

            "Do you know where you'll be sent once you take command? Or is it classified information?"

            He hesitated. "My orders are to cruise the Mediterranean in search of pirates."

            She knew how dangerous such an assignment would be, for pirates knew no rules of war, or offers of clemency, and those in the Mediterranean were more ruthless and bloodthirsty than most. Her glance encompassed him for a moment, before she lowered it again. "You know I wish you every good fortune, don't you? And that I trust you'll return not only triumphantly, but safely too?"

            "I have my good luck charm," he replied quietly, taking a small golden snuffbox from his pocket.

            She looked at it in puzzlement, for he didn't use snuff.

            He opened it, and inside she saw a lock of her hair. She stared at it. "Oh, Quatre…"

            "It's held me in good stead until now, well, at sea anyway, so I have faith that it will continue to do so," he murmured, taking the curl of sandy blond hair out, and parting the strands gently between his fingers. 

            She glanced in the snuffbox again, for there was a tiny piece of folded paper there as well. "What's that?" she asked.

            He held the box toward her. "See for yourself." 

            She reached for the paper, and unfolded it. To her astonishment, she saw her mother's handwriting. It was the recipe for syllabub, which her mother called "Relena's Syllabub."

            Quatre smiled. "I know it by heart now, of course, and whenever I'm in port, and fresh cream is on hand, I have it made for me. It, er, brings back good memories." His eyes swung briefly to hers, then away again.

            She refolded it, and put it back in the box. He replaced the lock of hair as well, snapped the box lid down, then pushed it back in his pocket.

            The fact that he still carried two such mementos with him affected her, and she suddenly found herself wishing he'd take her in his arms again. It was such a strong feeling that her lips almost parted to put it into words, but she stopped herself in time. Being with him again like this was weakening her resolve and clouding her memory. No matter how she might feel at this precise moment, the truth was that she could never trust him again. He'd been as easy to talk to and pleasant to be with all the time before, but behind her back he'd seen Sylvia Noventa, and that was something she must not forget.

            He got up suddenly. "Look, it really would be best if you could manage to sleep. I promise to stay here. I'll sit in the chair, but you must rest."

            "I won't be able to sleep."

            "I'm sure you thought that last night in the carriage as well. Sod o as I say, and try now. When you awaken, it will be Christmas Eve."

            Without another word she made herself as comfortable as she could, and closed her eyes. He went to the chair and sat down. Outside, the storm continued, lashing the waves against the vessel, and howling through the rigging like a thing demented. Relena kept her eyes closed, trying to think of anything and everything but the fact that she was on a ship that was bobbing like a cork on waves that were far too high for comfort. The candle went out again, and she heard Quatre's low curse, but he didn't get up to relight it, and as the minutes passed, the darkness became almost soothing. She found that the sounds of the storm were drifting farther and farther away, and at last she was asleep.

            Quatre rested his head on his arms on the table, and snatched a few hours sleep as well, and when he awoke on Christmas Eve morning, the gale had fallen away to a fresh wind. He rose quietly from the chair, and tiptoed from the cabin. Once on deck, he saw that it was first light, and the packet was cutting cleanly toward the Kent shore. The white cliffs of Dover were just visible through the haze, and he could see the light on the South Foreland. He checked that the carriage was secure, then stretched his legs by taking a turn around the deck. After that he returned to the cabin, where Relena was still fast asleep.

            He stood looking down at her for a moment, then sat on the edge of the bed, reaching out to push a stray blond curl away from her face. If only he hadn't been such a fool, if only he'd remain faithful, she'd still be his now. He put his hand to her cheek, drawing his thumb softly over her lips. How he'd always adored making love to her first thing in the morning, when she'd still been drowsy and warm from sleep.

            She began to stir, and he quickly got up again. He was seated in the chair when her eyes opened. She smiled with relief as she realized the storm was over, "Are we near Dover?"

            "Yes. Another half an hour should see us in port."

            She got up and found her crush and comb in her overnight valise. Her blond curls crackled in spit of the salt spray that dampened them the day before. She thought of something then, and turned toward him.

            "If—if you will just take me to the Shipp Inn, I'll engage a post chaise to take me to Oxford."

            "There's no need. I'll take you to Oxford."

            "I'd rather you didn't."

            "And I'd rather I did," he replied, a little more sharply than he'd intended. Somehow her request had caught him on the raw, and his tongue responded accordingly. He tried to modify his tone. "Look, Relena, I may not be the light of your life anymore, but I'm still your husband, and I'm still concerned for your safety and well-being. Dishonorable conduct in the past does not preclude me from displaying honorable conduct now. I cannot and will not permit you to travel alone."

            "But I've been traveling alone since the duchess died—I've had to."

            "And whose fault is that?" he snapped.

            She drew back slightly. "Very well, escort me to Oxford if you insist…"

            "I do."

            She said nothing more, but continued to comb and pin her hair as best she could.

            He turned away. Damn! The last thing he'd wanted was to fall out at all, but he was cut to the quick by her intention to part at the Ship Inn. He couldn't bear to let her go again, but had to face the unpalatable fact that she didn't want to stay with him. If he'd learned one thing fro the stupid interlude with Sylvia Noventa, it was that women like Relena did not regard the physical act of making love in the same light as men. A man could feel the urge to make love with any woman who caught his eye, and he could satisfy that urge without it meaning any more than a passing fancy, but the Relenas of this world only made love when they were in love, and that made all the difference in the world. Too late he knew how much his thoughtless night with Sylvia had hurt her, too late he understood her; now he had to accept that it was also too late to save the marriage that mattered so much. Everything was too late.

**Author's Note**: Hello, what you have just read is a story from the anthology, A Regency Christmas Feast. This was a story called "Sophie's Syllabub" by Sandra Heath. Since Regency romance books are a dying breed, I believe that by giving you all a sample (with a little tweek here and there…) can get you all to read their wonderful books. J Yes, I did change names around to match the characters from Gundam Wing, however, I am not taking credit for this story. This could be considered plagiarism however, I am not taking credit for it. J Meaning, I am only giving you a little taste of how wonderful this book is. I shall write out this whole book so that you can get a taste of what kind of books Miss Sandra Heath writes and hopefully, you will then take care to go buy some of her other wonderful books.  
  
**Disclaimers**: A Regency Christmas Feast: Sophie's Syllabub by Sandra Heath has been © by Zebra Regency Romance Sandra Wilson. Zebra Regency Books are published by Penguin Books Ltd. Gundam Wing are all characters of their respective American and Japanese owners. They are also ©.  
  
**Information**: Pages—2; Words—1,755; Characters (No Space)—7,649; Characters (With Space)—9,398; Paragraphs—51; Lines—138


	7. 

Relena's Syllabub

CHAPTER SEVEN

Edited by Mia Relena

Author: Sandra Heath

            The Christmas Eve sun broke through and the wind died away as the _Nymph_ waited for the tide and the pilot. Neither took long, and soon the vessel came alongside at the quay. The white cliffs towered above the town, and the houses, with their comfortably English facades, spread up a long valley from the shore. Christmas was evident everywhere, from the piles of holly on the cobbles, to the flock of geese that made a great noise as they were driven to market. Everywhere there was bustle and noise, and some musicians by a tavern were playing and singing a Christmas carol. "_Good King Wenceslas looked out, on the feast of Stephen, When the snow lay round about, deep, and crisp, and even…_"

            The customs officers came aboard, and it was some time before they were satisfied there was no contraband aboard, then Quatre escorted Relena ashore, but as they went across the gangway, something happened. She stumbled, and as he bent quickly to catch her, the snuffbox slipped from his pocket into the water between the ship and the quay. "Quatre! The snuffbox!"

            Dismay colored his eyes. "Well, no doubt Dame Fortune will still smile on me," he murmured, and continued to help her ashore.

            The loss of the snuffbox bothered her, and as he sent a man to hire horses at the Ship Inn, then returned on board to keep a close eye on the unloading of the carriage, she stood at the edge of the quay, gazing down at the shining water. Superstitious anxiety suddenly seized her. Without his amulet, he might be in more danger…She said nothing as he rejoined her, and they walked to the Ship Inn for a much needed breakfast.

            The sun had vanished behind clouds a little later as they entered the carriage again and commenced the long climb out of Dover on the London road. It was the Canterbury road too, and would take them past the gates of Winner Park, a fact that was on both their minds, but which neither of them mentioned. As she recognized the distant silhouette of the estate's seventeenth-century prospect tower on its hilltop two miles ahead, a thousand and one emotions cascaded through her. Sweet memories vied with unhappiness, the joys of love with the pains of betrayal, and the braveness of her new independence with the vulnerability of fearing for the life of the only man who'd ever meant anything to her. The loss of the lock seemed a terrible omen, a warning that he and the _Piper _would sail out of Portsmouth into the gravest of hazards.

            Suddenly she opened her reticule and took out her little pair of scissors. She snipped a lock of her hair, then held it out to him. "Take it, please," she said quietly.

            He gazed at it, knowing full well why she wanted him to have it. "Relena, I—"

            "Please, Quatre. You cannot leave England without a talisman, and if you carried my hair before, you must carry it again now." She pressed it into his palm. "Keep it with you, for I hope with all my heart that it will protect you. And—and if you wish, I will _make _my mother write out the syllabub recipe again, so everything will be as it was…"

            "If only everything really could be as it was," he murmured. Then suddenly he caught her hand, and pulled her toward him to kiss her softly on the lips.

            She was taken by surprise, and for a moment didn't resist. The touch of his lips was tender and loving, and found a response that came from deep within her. For that heart-stopping second, the past melted away, and there was just love.

            His fingers tightened over her hand, and she was conscious of the desire that ached through his kiss, for it began to yearn through her too. She mustn't succumb. This was the path to fresh hurt! She pulled abruptly away. "No!"

            "Relena, how can you deny—"

            "Deny what? That you can still cause me pain? That to be with you is to rake over things that I wish to put behind me? We were so happy, but you callously ruined everything. Why did you do it? And why with Sylvia Noventa, of _all _women?"

            Desire still washed confusingly through him as he leaned back in his seat. "Oh, Relena, don't you think I haven't asked myself the same questions over and over again? I can't say anything in my own defense. It just happened, and that's all there is to say. I was on my way to the Admiralty. It wasn't an urgent summons, just a request that  I call there soon. I stopped at the Canterbury inn because one of the horses' shoes needed attention, and Sylvia came up to speak to me. She was tearful because she'd received bad news, I don't recall what it was now, but I felt obliged to comfort her a little. But she was very upset, and I didn't think I should leave her, so I decided to stay until she'd recovered. But one thing led to another, she was crying, I put my arms around her, and…" He paused wretchedly. "That's all there was to it, Relena, I _swear _it. I was a fool, I gave in to my base male nature, and woke up the next morning wishing with all my heart that I'd driven straight through Canterbury the day before. If it's any consolation, I wasn't the most ardent lover she'd ever had."

            "But was _she _the most ardent lover _you'd _ever had?"

            "No."

            "So you'd have me believe it was as insignificant a thing as anyone could possibly imagine? A mere trifle?" She twirled her hand in the air like a maiden aunt speaking of a child's faux pas, but if her tone was light, her glance was not.

            "Yes, Relena, as insignificant as anyone could possibly imagine," he repeated quietly.

            Her deep bitterness sounded then. "You thought so little of me, and how'd I'd feel, that you simply fell between the sheets with her because the urge took you. Can you imagine how that makes me feel, even now?"

            He tied a knot in the lock of hair, and put it in his pocket, then sat forward, holding her gaze earnestly. "But that's just it, Relena, I _do _know now how my conduct affected you. I know, I understand, and I despise myself for what I did."

            Tears suddenly filled her eyes. "I could _never _have done such a thing to you, Quatre. When I made my vows to you, I meant them, every word."

            He seized both her hands. "And I meant mine! I was a fool to end all fools to betray them, and now I crave the chance to put matters right. Will you give me a chance, Relena?"

            "No. Please, don't ask." But she thought of the contents of the snuffbox, and of how she'd felt when she'd given him another lock of hair only a few moments before. And of how she'd felt too when he kissed her afterward…      

            He could see the indecision in her eyes. Her words said one thing, but her gaze told him quite another, so he didn't let go of her hands. "Come home with me now, Relena. No one at Dorlian Place knows you're coming home, so no one will ever be any the wiser. Come with me now to Winner Park, we could not only spend the rest of this Christmas Eve together, but if you stayed tonight, we could be together on Christmas Day too—"

            "No," she interrupted quietly. "It wouldn't be right."

            "Why not? What rule would we be breaking?"

            She didn't say anything.

            He smoothed her palms with his thumbs. "Spend a little time with me, Relena, proper time, not hurried, stressful hours of traveling, and if after that, you still wish to go, I will not put any obstacles in your way. All I ask is that you grant me one more chance to prove my love. We're still man and wife, and at the liberty to do as we please." He paused to look shrewdly into her eyes. "Or are you afraid your heart might overrule your head?" he challenged quietly.

            "I just don't want to be hurt anymore, Quatre. You _sound_ earnest, but then you did before too. How do I know you aren't merely intent upon seducing me again? Maybe you're so bored waiting to take over your new command, that I'm a handy diversion?"

            "Is that what you really think of me?"

            "I don't know, Quatre. I trusted you before, but you let me down most cruelly. I'm just afraid you'll do the same again. You've always know so well how to brush my defenses aside, how to ally my fears so I'm exposed to your wiles."

            "You make me sound like a calculating monster!" he protested.

            "Maybe you are. Maybe all men are when it comes to luring a woman between the sheets. On our wedding night, when I was so nervous and uncertain, you knew exactly what to do to make me smile and feel at east."

            He was puzzled. "I—I don't understand…"

            "The syllabub."  
            He stared at her. "The syllabub?" he repeated blankly.

            "You knew it would make me think how warm, tender, loving, and thoughtful you were, and that…"

            "And that it would make you relax sufficiently to do as I wished when I got you to the marriage bed?" He gave an incredulous laugh.

            She blushed, and looked away. "Laugh at me if you will, but when I look back now, and remember all that happened afterward, that simple gesture of yours looks far too knowing to be loving, so don't try to make me feel foolish for ever giving you my heart."

            His hands tightened over hers. "Relena, that syllabub _was _a simple gesture, a gesture of love. I wanted that particular dish to always mean something special to us, something we'd think of every time we ate it, something that would make ours eyes meet in that private way only lovers have. I wasn't being calculating, I swear." He released her hands. "Maybe if that's what you think of me, it really is too late for us, but I still want to try one last time to see if we can mend the past. Come to Winner Park with me now, Relena. I swear I will not attempt anything, I just want to spend time with you."

            She found herself hesitating.

            "Relena, it's Christmas, and I'm _begging _you. Can you really keep turning your back on a marriage that was blissfully happy until I let you down? I was the wrongdoer, I freely admit it, but I'm more repentant than you'll ever know. So if those vows mean as much to you as you say, you _have _to let me try to put things right! Besides, I will not be able to hound you for long afterward should you wish to sever the relationship, because I'll have sailed on the _Piper_. I swear upon everything I hold dear that I will not resort to any underhanded or unfair trickery with syllabubs," he added, attempting to lighten the atmosphere.

            At that she closed her eyes, and nodded, "Very well, I'll come with you to Winner Park, but I promise nothing, Quatre. You've begged me to spend a little time with you; I agree to that, and only that."  
  
**Author's Note**: Hello, what you have just read is a story from the anthology, A Regency Christmas Feast. This was a story called "Sophie's Syllabub" by Sandra Heath. Since Regency romance books are a dying breed, I believe that by giving you all a sample (with a little tweek here and there…) can get you all to read their wonderful books. J Yes, I did change names around to match the characters from Gundam Wing, however, I am not taking credit for this story. This could be considered plagiarism however, I am not taking credit for it. J Meaning, I am only giving you a little taste of how wonderful this book is. I shall write out this whole book so that you can get a taste of what kind of books Miss Sandra Heath writes and hopefully, you will then take care to go buy some of her other wonderful books.  
  
**Disclaimers**: A Regency Christmas Feast: Sophie's Syllabub by Sandra Heath has been © by Zebra Regency Romance Sandra Wilson. Zebra Regency Books are published by Penguin Books Ltd. Gundam Wing are all characters of their respective American and Japanese owners. They are also ©.  
  
**Information**: Pages—2; Words—1,934; Characters (No Space)—8,399; Characters (With Space)—10,327; Paragraphs—46; Lines—147


	8. 

Relena's Syllabub

CHAPTER EIGHT

Edited by Mia Relena

Author: Sandra Heath

            He gave her no opportunity to change her mind, but quickly lowered the window glass and leaned out to shout instructions to the coachman. 

            But a few minutes later, just as the carriage was about to turn across the road through the urn-topped gates, it had to halt because another carriage drove from the opposite direction. Quatre's coachman reined in sharply, and both Relena and Quatre glanced out. They were in time to see the other carriage sweep past, and dismay sank through Relena like a remembered stone, for a strikingly beautiful redhead was seated inside. It was Sylvia Noventa. Of all the people to chance to see, it had to be the woman who'd brought about the crisis that had wrecked everything! Sylvia gazed out in startlement, perceiving Quatre, but not the fact that his estranged wife was with him. There was no mistaking the delight and predatory anticipation that leaped to her almond eyes for the split second before her carriage carried her past, and Quatre's coachman flicked the reins to urge his team into action again.

            Relena's lips parted in consternation, and in the space of a heartbeat she'd changed her mind again. Seeing Sylvia made all the difference in the world. Suddenly Winner Park was out of the question; in fact it was the very last place on earth she wished to go to! Bitter memory relit her eyes as they flew toward Quatre.

            His face was a study of perturbation, for he knew only too well the effect seeing Sylvia had upon the situation. "Relena—" he began.

            She broke in. "I—I can't stay. Not now."

            He leaned forward urgently. "You said you'd spend time with me, Relena," he reminded her.

            "Yes, I know, but—"

            "There can't be any buts, Relena. Sylvia meant nothing to me then, and still means nothing."

            "The same can hardly be said of her. Joy was written all over her when she saw you!"

            "Does it matter what _she_ feels?"

            Relena looked away, her hands twisting anxiously in her muff.

            Quatre still leaned forward. "Please stand by your word, Relena. Spend this time with me, and don't let Sylvia Noventa spoil anything."

            Tears shone in her eyes, and after a long moment she nodded. "Very well, I'll still stay," she whispered, but her misgivings were many, and ran very deep. She'd been uncertain enough before the chance glimpse of Sylvia; now she felt she was making a very grave error of judgment.

            She gazed out at the remembered scene, the beautiful park, the red deer that fled at the sound of the carriage, and, above the trees, the first view of the Jacobean chimneys and ornately gabled roof of the seventeenth-century house. The water of the lake was very still and dark at the narrow neck where the drive passed over the stone-balustraded bridge, and now the carriage had drawn so much closer, the prospect tower seemed to reach up into the clouds that were gathering swiftly across the entire sky.

            This was how she'd first seen her new home when she'd come here as a bride. Quatre had held her hand as they drove up in an open carriage. It had been a beautiful summer's day, her frilled pink parasol had twirled above her head, and her eyes had shone with happiness. There was no sunshine now, just the bleakness of a Christmas Eve morning, and a sky that was heavy with the yellow-gray clouds that so often meant snow. And there was, too, the shadow cast by Sylvia Noventa…

            She watched as more and more of the house became visible. It was a small, very beautiful mansion, built of red brick with stone facings, with the Dutch-style gable ends and large mullioned bay windows that were so fashionable at the time of its building. The shutters were closed, and the place would have looked deserted had it not been for the curls of smoke rising from the chimneys because the servants were keeping all the rooms warm and aired. She pondered the consternation their unexpected arrival would cause, the hurry-scurry to open all the shutters and whisk the dust covers off the furniture. As for the kitchen, there'd be uproar because the larder was bound to be trimmed to cater just for the staff, not for the return of Captain and Mrs. Winner! Was Mrs. Barnsley still the cook? And Brewster still the butler, she wondered.

            The unexpected arrival of the master's carriage did indeed cause consternation on a grand scale, but it turned to astonished delight when he was seen assisting Relena down at the door, for there wasn't a servant at Winner Park who hadn't been sad when she left. As Quatre and Relena entered, the sound of hastily opening shutters was already echoing through the house, and a footman was snatching dust sheets off the sofas in the dark-paneled hall, where the painted ceiling depicted the myth of Prometheus. Two maids were endeavoring to fan flames from the banked-up fire in the hearth, above which rose a chimneypiece that was a glory of carved birds, leaves, scrolls, and musical instruments.

            As Quatre helped her with her cloak, Relena gazed around at the house she'd once loved so very much. She knew this could be her second homecoming if she wished. But did she wish? Was this house and its master what she still _really _wanted, or would she always be too hurt to ever forgive enough?

~*~*~

            She and Quatre walked by the lake that afternoon. Snowflakes drifted idly in the air, clinging to her hood and cloak, and brush her face. In spite of all her doubts and fears, she was beginning to relax a little. She felt almost at ease as they strolled companionably together. She watched a horseman ride down the drive to the house, and hand something to Brewster at the door, but then Quatre drew her attention to the waterfowl on the lake, and she thought no more of it.

            The horseman had ridden away again by the time they reached the stone bridge, where a holly tree was so bright with scarlet berries that she had to stop and gather some. Quatre helped her, and soon she had a huge armful. He smiled into her eyes over the shining berries and greenery. "I'm glad you didn't change your mind about coming here today."

            "I am too," she replied after a moment's hesitation. 

            The pause wasn't lost on him. "Relena, you have no need to fear Sylvia." He caught her gloved hand so she dropped all the holly, but he took no notice as he drew her fingers to his chest, pressing them against his heart so she could feel its steady beat. "I'm yours, Relena, not hers, and this heart beats only for you," he said softly.

            "Does it?" she whispered, unable to stem the wretched flow of doubt that spilled through her merely at the mention of her rival's name.

            "Yes, it does, as you'll soon realize now you're here."

            She met his eyes again. "Don't hope for too much, Quatre. The fact that I've come here doesn't mean I'm going to stay."

            "I know."

            "Do you?" She searched his face. "_Do_ you?" she asked again, her voice dropping to a doubting whisper.

            "I'm not deluding myself, Relena. I'm well aware that the past cannot be dashed aside in a moment, and that trust cannot be regained simply because I _wish _it. I need you to spend these hours here with me, in the hope that you'll remember the good things we had, not just the bad, but you need not fear that I'll fling myself at your feet in a paroxysm of unmanly tears, or grovel for a crumb of kindness from my lady's plate. I promise not to resort to shabby seductive wiles, nor force more kisses on you, or creep to your room tonight. You're my wife, but you're also your own woman now, and any decision you make will be binding upon me. But just remember this, I love you with all my heart, Relena." He gazed into her eyes for a moment later, and then looked up at the snow-laden sky. "Come on, let's go inside in the warmth," he murmured, releasing her hand and then bending to gather the holly.

            Moments later they walked back toward the house, but as they entered, Brewster hastened toward Quatre with a little silver tray upon which lay a sealed not. "This was delivered a few minutes ago, sir," he said.

            Quatre dropped the holly on to a table, then took the note, and stared at the writing without breaking the seal. Then he strode across to the fire, and tossed the unread note upon the flames. Brewster glanced at him and then hurried away.

            Relena gazed at the burning note as it curled into ashes. "It was from her, wasn't it?" she said quietly.

            "I wouldn't know," he replied unconvincingly.

            "Oh, really, Quatre, who else even knows you're home again? Don't pretend. It was from her, and we both know it."

            "Very well, it was from her."

            "And you'd have read it, if I hadn't been here."

            He shook his head. "No, Relena."

            "Oh, yes, you would," she whispered, then fathered her skirts to hurry up the staircase.

            Quatre gazed after her, then turned to look at the glowing embers in the hearth.

~*~*~

            As darkness fell and the hour for dinner approached, candles were lit. Firelight leaped over the rich wooden paneling and the green brocade hangings of the bed as Relena combed and pinned her hair, an art she'd more than perfected over the last year. Outside it was still snowing, but inside it was warm and cozy. She wore the dark-green velvet gown again, and was seated at the dressing table as she teased little frame of curls around her face. Then she took a little sprig of holly selected from the bunch she and Quatre had gathered. It consisted of two leaves and six berries, and she used a hairpin to attach it carefully to the knot of hair on top of her head. It was a simple but very seasonal effect, although the last thing she actually felt was seasonal. Sylvia's presence seemed to be everywhere, as if she were in the house at this very moment…

            Relena got up and went to the window. Beyond her reflection she could see the park. The snow had settled, and from time to time flakes glided past the windowpane. She remembered her first Christmas here. She'd been standing at the window waiting to go down to dinner, just as she was now, and Quatre's reflection had appeared in the pane behind her. She'd turned, and smiled as he'd come to kiss her. After that it had been some time before they'd eventually gone down to the dining room…She gazed at the pane for a long moment, half wishing Quatre were appear again now, but he didn't, and besides fate seemed to be conspiring to force Sylvia to the fore.

**Author's Note**: Hello, what you have just read is a story from the anthology, A Regency Christmas Feast. This was a story called "Sophie's Syllabub" by Sandra Heath. Since Regency romance books are a dying breed, I believe that by giving you all a sample (with a little tweek here and there…) can get you all to read their wonderful books. J Yes, I did change names around to match the characters from Gundam Wing, however, I am not taking credit for this story. This could be considered plagiarism however, I am not taking credit for it. J Meaning, I am only giving you a little taste of how wonderful this book is. I shall write out this whole book so that you can get a taste of what kind of books Miss Sandra Heath writes and hopefully, you will then take care to go buy some of her other wonderful books.

**Disclaimers**: A Regency Christmas Feast: Sophie's Syllabub by Sandra Heath has been © by Zebra Regency Romance Sandra Wilson. Zebra Regency Books are published by Penguin Books Ltd.. Gundam Wing are all characters of their respective American and Japanese owners. They are also ©.

**Information**: Pages—2; Words—1,860; Characters (No Space)—8,435; Characters (With Space)—10,289; Paragraphs—46; Lines—153


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